My day to explore Dallas had finally arrived; today I would see if it had been misrepresented by its links to the famous television show, even though I have never seen an episode and can only think of shoulder pads and sequins when referring to it. I have to say that I didn't see a single sparkle during my day in Dallas, not one.

I did see some sparkling water though, in the form of the many water features the city boasts, but they came after seeing the famous sixth floor window from where John F. Kennedy was shot, and the 'x’ that marks the spot of impact on that famous day in November 1963. After taking numerous shots of the mark, and the American flag flying over its line of view, I left the museum in favour of spending $13 elsewhere and looked around the museum just opposite, which also failed to see any of my money.

I used the ‘art walk’ guide I’d picked up at the visitors’ centre, fortunately a lot easier to find than the one in Houston, and made my way along the boiling streets to see the many sculptures it had to offer, but I couldn’t delve into their origins too much as I’d managed to pick up the Spanish version

My sniffles that had been threatening since Austin were now moving onto the lethargy stage, and I completed the walk at a snail’s pace, having to stop every so often to recover; the heat combined with a less than competent immune system didn’t make the day a great one to explore, but at least I had an excuse to visit Starbucks. Whilst in there the pair behind the counter told me I had to ‘understand that English and Australian does sound the same’ and that they could all be forgiven for mistaking our accents, to which I replied I supposed it was a similar quandary to people mistaking Americans for Canadians, but they wholly disagreed with that being a plausible comparison. I smiled and agreed to disagree and went on my way, wishing I could be bothered talking for longer just to enjoy the air conditioning.

Once I’d completed the walk, including the dodgy spots where nobody seemed to venture except tourists carrying the yellow map, I took the train over to a possible shopping spot, but on getting there and seeing it was a long walk opted to start my venture back to the mansion instead. Whilst in one of the carriages a man asked for $4 so he could buy a rail pass, and as he looked like he could afford it without my help I declined; I had a $20 note but as I don’t imagine he had change I wasn’t about to let him make a profit

. He seemed annoyed by my refusal, and asked if he could just have my rail ticket, seeing as I wasn’t finished with it I said no to that as well, which further angered him, and after he’d made me feel extremely uncomfortable I was glad to see him get off at the next stop to badger someone else.

When back at the transit station I decided to wander around an unexplored street to see what lay behind the high walls, only to find an old district boasting a burger joint that offered free food to those ‘over 350 pounds,’ I’m pleased to say I couldn’t eat free there, but just to see the sign made my day. Is it true this would only appear in America, or are there more signs like this I’m just yet to see?

I instead opted for a blueberry smoothie at a store near the transit station, and enjoyed its ability to cool my burning throat whilst the air conditioning created an all-encompassing breeze, enjoying the peace before I sat amongst the pigeons and their feeders at the bus stop. A large man who could have eaten free at the burger joint had opted for McDonald’s and was sharing his Big Macs with the pigeons swarming around him, the bread for them and the filling for him. As he professed his happiness in life to the woman beside him, who fortunately wasn’t me, he detailed his previous life living in his car; I was glad he was a happy chappy, but I’d have been happier too if he didn’t keep attracting the flying vermin and blowing smoke in my direction with every puff of his cigarette.

I’m not sure whether it was to escape the chatty man or the power of advertising that made me hop into McDonald’s and buy an iced tea, but I was soon back at the bus stop drinking the tea that was far too sweet, almost syrupy, and in abundance to the amount I needed to quench any thirst

. The sugar didn’t give me a high though, and I was soon sleeping on the bus back to the manor, luckily waking up just a stop before the one I needed.

Just as Sundays should be quiet and uneventful, so was this one; after a shower that was probably too long in the en-suite that I would soon be departing I was once again treated like one of the family by Rick and Kenny. We shared a delicious Thai meal whilst being introduced to the comedic efforts of Jeff Dunham, a ventriloquist whose puppets include Bubba J, a ‘white trash, beer guzzling product… of the south,’ Achmed, the terrorist skeleton who accidentally blew himself up, and José, the ‘jalapeño on a stick.’ Between the puppets and the spicy curry my head was slowly being cleared, which was just in time for my flight up north tomorrow to the manic world of New York.